


The Natural Order Of Things

by Kendrene



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Begging, Blow Jobs, Bratty!Clarke, Daddy Kink, Daddy!Anya, Dirty Talk, F/F, G!P, G!p Anya, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Teasing, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 11:42:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11161152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kendrene/pseuds/Kendrene
Summary: When Anya comes back from a business trip and finds Clarke in the middle of touching herself - after the blonde had been expressely told not to do so - she has no choice but to punish herORThe one where Clarke is bratty and gets in trouble





	The Natural Order Of Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BoysWannaBeHer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoysWannaBeHer/gifts).



> So for this one...blame Tumblr. We were discussing Anya and I started to think that she could be a perfect daddy. Apparently some people agree.
> 
> Please note that the theme may not be for everyone so I advise you to read the tags. Some of the language is very coarse. As for why Anya is g!p in this fic I leave interpretation up to the reader. Personally I think that Trans!Anya or Intersex!Anya are valid interpretations...or you can simply just (hopefully) enjoy the sin. 
> 
> As usual come talk to me on tumblr @kendrene

When she heard the key turn into the lock of their apartment’s door, Clarke knew she was fucked.

In truth she had been for some time as she had been fucking herself, quite literally, spreadeagled on their bed, face pressed hard into her wife’s pillow.

There would be consequences. that much she knew, but she was three fingers knuckle deep inside her cunt and release was a couple of thrusts away at best.

She thumbed her swollen clit roughly, the straining nub of flesh pounding harshly under her touch, and moments later she came, gushing messily all over her hand and the sheets, teeth sinking into the pillowcase to muffle her cries.

Just as Clarke was crashing down from her height, shaking and undone like a collapsed cathedral in an earthquake, the bedroom door opened and Anya stepped inside.

“You disobeyed.” Her wife stated, without even looking her way.

Clarke guessed she didn’t need to, the smell of sex clinging to every surface, heavy and chokingly humid. She watched the older woman tread through the room with hungry, half lidded eyes, drinking in her every move.

Anya wore a tight fitting suit, midnight blue with a matching tie spilling over an immaculate button up shirt. Her heels, which made her several inches taller - as if it was necessary that she look even more imposing - clicked softly on the wooden floor while she puttered around, setting her bag against a wall and out of the way before shrugging out of the suit’s jacket.

“My instructions weren’t that hard to follow, Clarke,” Anya laid the jacket across the back of a chair, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles and Clarke couldn’t help but imagine those slender fingers playing along her ribs.

She groaned and threw an arm across her face, as if that could push back the blush she felt creeping up her neck to spread across her cheeks.

“You were away for a whole week,” she practically whined, “and I was _horny_.”

“And I texted you that I was on my way from the airport. You could not wait an hour longer?” Anya finally turned to face her, her mocha eyes darkening to hard obsidian as they openly raked the heights and valleys of her body. Clarke felt herself quicken and tremble with a delicious sliver of fear under that flinty stare, thighs moving to press together and conceal the proof of her disobedience.

“Stay still,” Anya ordered with the same hard voice Clarke was sure she used to bully managers around  Wall Street, “you chose to break the rules and now will take your punishment, girl.”

There was a spark of something primal swirling in the depths of Anya’s eyes, an almost brooding curve to her hard pressed mouth as she waited for Clarke’s reaction.

The blonde’s heart began a wild hammering against her ribcage, she knew of how a tiny mouse must feel among the high grass, when the shadow of the hawk blots out the sun.

“And how would you punish me... _daddy_?”

The word quivered between them - almost visible - and Anya couldn’t help a sharp intake of breath, pants tightening as heat shot down her spine making her stir. It took all of her willpower to resist the urge to shed her clothes and just join her wife in bed, taking her until they both were too exhausted to do nothing more than lay into each other’s arms.

But they had agreed to the rules before she left, and Clarke had broken them, just when Anya thought she’d be good this time around.

And yet as she kicked off her heels and stalked towards the bed, pants tenting further, Anya knew she relished what was to come. Punishment and reward, merging together like two sides of the same coin.

“First of all you will lay there like the dirty slut you are,” she sat on the edge of the bed and undid the cuffs of her shirt, rolling up her sleeves past her elbows, “and just wonder what daddy is going to do to you while you make even more of a mess on the sheets.”

She paused, frowning down at the blonde before adding.

“Perhaps I should make you clean after yourself, girl.”

The younger girl stirred, mouth dropping open for a retort, but before she could say anything Anya followed through. reaching down between Clarke’s legs to drag her fingertips across the swollen, drenched folds of her wife’s cunt.

“Did you get so worked up thinking about me, or was someone else on your mind?” Anya purred with a hint of threat, pinching Clarke’s clit and causing the blonde’s hips to cant upwards sharply.  When she withdrew her hand - now glistening with slick - she brought it level with Clarke’s mouth.

“I only get this wet for you, daddy,” Clarke whimpered, immediately missing her wife’s touch, pussy clenching desperately around nothing, “only for you.”

“Suck.” The order was hurled her way almost lazily, Anya’s fingers ghosting against her lower lip, but it speared through Clarke like lightning and almost split her open as even more wetness spurted out of her to drench the bed beneath her ass.

She opened her mouth obediently, humming as the taste of her own slick spread across her tongue. Clarke lapped her juices up, meaning to take her time as her tongue lightly grazed the length of Anya’s fingers, but her wife had other ideas, pushing three of her fingers inside her mouth to the hilt, only giving Clarke time to open wider before pumping them in and out at a hard pace.

“I think you’d rather it was my cock you were taking.” Anya’s breath was scalding along her jaw and Clarke moaned eager assent around her wife’s fingers, licking them clean with an  aroused, obscene slurp.

When Anya relented, slowly pulling out and allowing her to nuzzle into her hand, Clarke heaved a shaky breath, peppering her wife’s now sticky palm with kisses.

“Please Anya,” she tossed her legs, the heat between her thighs spreading along her nerves, devouring her as if she was a timber tree succumbing to a forest fire. “Please I’ll behave...I’ll be a good girl, daddy… please fuck me.”

Anya stood with a groan, hand reaching out to steady herself against the headboard. Her cock was fully erect now, the silkyness of Clarke’s mouth, the wet heat of her tongue sliding between Anya’s fingers having contributed to that fact in no small part. It pushed against the fabric of her shorts and throbbed with an insistence she could no longer ignore.

She faced the younger blonde deliberately, hands slowly going to her belt buckle, stilling there until she was sure she had her wife’s full attention. Clarke was beautiful like that, and she swallowed harshly as she took in every little detail that she could. Her wife’s usually pale skin was flushed a rosier tint, every inch of it gleaming with a light film of sweat. More droplets sneaked their way down Clarke’s body as Anya watched, gathering in the valley between her full breasts and slowly trailing down the hinted swell of the blonde’s belly, pooling at her navel.

Anya’s mouth watered for a taste, a lick of the salt painting Clarke’s heated skin, but first she had a lesson to inflict.

When she pushed her pants down, along with her boxers, she heaved a sigh of relief at the sudden release in pressure. Her cock sprung free, heavy and thick, tip already glistening with precum.

She heard Clarke’s sharp inhale, but feigned disinterest, taking her time to pull the pants down and send them skidding across the floor.

When Anya looked back to the bed Clarke had disobeyed again, sitting up and leaning forward, mouth slightly open in anticipation. The blonde’s eyes were heavily lidded, her pupils blown so wide that the clear sky blue of her irises was pushed into a narrow ring, making her eyes take on a feral quality, the look of a hungry beast on the brink of being sated.

And just when Anya saw Clarke’s eyes glaze over, her mind completely overtaken by lust, she _pounced_ and was on the bed in a heartbeat, the tie she’d worn only moments before swiftly going around Clarke’s wrists and securing them above the blonde’s head.

Clarke had only a moment to realize what was happening, then she was being pressed into the mattress, a low moan escaping her at the display of Anya’s wiry strength. Her hands were tied up quickly, firmly enough that she could not free herself no matter how she tugged but not cruelly tight, and she had half a mind to arch her back and try to throw Anya off.

But then she felt her wife’s stiff cock rub against her stomach, leaving fat drops of precum behind and all thoughts of resisting faded as the waves of heat consuming her cracked her bones and boiled her marrow.

She was dimly aware of Anya shuffling up to kneel right over her and then she felt the engorged tip of the older woman’s cock push against her mouth.

“Open up.”

Clarke smirked against the throbbing head, and turned her head away in a small act of defiance, her clit pounding hard when Anya’s fingers tightened in her hair, yanking her head back in place.

“I said open up, whore.”

The term should have felt demeaning, humiliating and in any other situation, from any other person it would have. But when Clarke looked up into Anya’s dilated eyes, she saw the ever present tenderness lurk beneath the lust that had the both of them whipped, like willow trees bending to the fury of a winter storm. Her tongue flicked out and she licked along the head’s divot, gathering her wife’s essence on her tongue, before allowing Anya to push inside her mouth, slow and gentle in stark contrast to the tone of her voice.

Clarke resisted the urge to raise her head and suck more of Anya’s cock into her mouth, letting the older woman set the pace she wanted. She was rewarded moments later as her wife gave her several more inches, and she eagerly pushed her tongue along the straining shaft, laving it with attention.

“Good girl,” Anya’s hand moved to stroke her cheek, “see how good you can be for daddy when you want to?”

Her eyes had softened back to a warm mocha full of fondness, their depths holding the words she’d whisper in Clarke’s ear every night before they fell asleep.

Anya had stilled inside her, not fucking her mouth yet, just letting her feel the heaviness of her cock as it rested on her tongue, allowing Clarke to realize how thick it felt and how wide it would stretch her throat when it was finally thrust inside her to the hilt.

Precum drizzled from its tip, the headiness of its taste bursting into her mouth and Clarke moaned, begging for more with her eyes.

And more was swiftly given, Anya’s hand moving from her cheek to cup the back of her head, assisting Clarke as she lifted her head off the bed so that she could take more and more of Anya inside.

Soon enough her wife was buried almost completely in her mouth, the swollen tip of her cock nudging at the back of Clarke’s throat. When Anya stopped her gentle thrusting she wanted to scream in frustration, but the sound that came out of her chest was a needy keen that set the older woman chuckling softly.

“Relax your throat.” Anya coaxed, free hand coming to rest against the column of Clarke’s neck. “Like that...good girl…” She hissed softly as she felt Clarke’s throat give way, allowing her to sink even deeper inside the girl’s throat. She wanted to use her, to feel the muscles flutter against her length and milk her cock until she came and Clarke swallowed every drop.

Instead she just stayed inside, cutting off Clarke’s airflow until she felt her lover’s jaw begin to slacken, and then pulled all of the way out, earning a disappointed groan from the blonde.

“Daddy?” Clarke managed to croak out, between one big lungful of air and the next. Her chest burned from the temporary lack of oxygen, pleasant tendrils of pain curling around her bones and reaching down to stoke the furnace of her belly.

“What punishment would it be, if I gave you what you wanted right away, babygirl?”

Anya moved off her, one of her hands hooking into the tie securing her wrists and dragging Clarke along.

Her wife pulled her to her feet then sat back down on the bed, legs swinging over the side. She patted a toned thigh with her free hand and pointed to her lap.

“Straddle me.”

Clarke moved to comply, slick running down her inner thighs in rivers at the thought she was finally getting what she had wanted all along, but Anya who had followed her gaze, smirked widely, shattering her hope.

“Not facing me,” Anya snorted at the incredulous expression that crossed Clarke’s face, “the other way.”

She grabbed the unmoving girl by her hips and pulled her down so that she was sitting on her lap, Clarke’s back pressing into her front.

“Like this,” she murmured, leaving open-mouthed kisses along Clarke’s spine, “so that you can watch yourself be fucked in the mirror and see how much of a fucking, dirty girl you are.”

She met Clarke’s reflected, disbelieving gaze and grinned, hands leaving the flare of her wife’s hips to move up her sides, gently following the contours of Clarke’s ribs.

“You will not disobey me again.” Anya suddenly snarled, honey colored tresses swinging as she turned her head to nuzzle against the blonde’s neck, before she bit down hard and sucked a lilac bruise into her collarbone.

Clarke arched into her with a scream, tied hands twitching vainly against the restraints.

“Say. It.” Anya released the marked flesh with a wet pop and licked the bruise slowly, tongue melting against the stinging skin. Clarke flinched.

“I promise---ahhhh---daddy. I will be good.”

“We both know you’re lying.”

Clarke whimpered, hating how stricken her expression looked in the full mirror, how the light inside her eyes betrayed her thoughts.

Thoughts that Anya could see clear as noonday light - as always - and at her wife’s words she gushed all over the woman’s thighs, wishing that her cock was splitting her sex open instead of weighing against her back, tantalizingly close yet still denied to her.

But judging from Anya’s bared teeth and knitted brow she would not get it until she crumbled in surrender, and she gathered herself ready to slide off Anya’s lap and do everything - anything that she demanded.

Her wife’s fingers spreading her folds and entering her were so unexpected that Clarke flailed, incapable to comprehend the sudden fullness stretching her inner walls, and she would have fallen if not for Anya’s other arm winding around her waist and keeping her in place.

Again the blonde was rendered speechless by the clash between the ruthless clench of Anya’s jaw as she fucked her raw and the gentleness of her other hand rubbing soothing circles over Clarke’s spasming belly.

“You’re doing so good babygirl.” The praise was like cool honey sliding down her back, “you’re going to take my fingers and then maybe - if you beg me well enough - you will get what you want. Are we understood?”

“Yes daddy.”

Anya smiled, watching Clarke’s head bob up and down eagerly and she peppered her wife’s back with tender kisses, a small sign that she hadn’t forgotten where the limits lay.

She felt Clarke relax back into her more her legs falling even wider apart, and Anya moved her hand so that she could slide another finger inside her lover’s dripping depths. It was a tight fit, but not as tight as her cock would soon make it, and she increased the tempo of her thrusts, curling her fingers against Clarke’s front wall every time she pushed inside, marveling at the amount of slick she managed to coax out.

Her own cock leaked precum almost constantly, and she jerked her hips, savoring the friction of the shaft against the small of Clarke’s back. The blonde pushed into her in response and Anya groaned, deciding that perhaps she’d tortured her wife enough for the time being.

“Please daddy,” Clarke whined, voice sultry with desire, “please let me have your cock. I’ll try and behave better.”

“I am glad you recognize it’s a matter of trying, babygirl.” Anya answered drily, voice somewhat cracked with her own need, “you are too stubborn to be pliant all the time, but that’s just how daddy loves you.”

She withdrew her fingers, Clarke’s muscles clenching madly to try and keep her in, rubbing gentle circles around the blonde’s swollen clit before pressing her thumb firmly against the tip.

She held it there a moment, letting Clarke slump against her, her other hand tugging at the knot that held the blonde’s wrists together. When the tie fell away, Anya pushed Clarke off her lap and made her turn around, pulling her to stand between her knees.

“Your wrists babygirl, show them to me.”

Clarke raised her hands and Anya trapped them within hers, bringing them up to her mouth to kiss the inside of her wife’s wrists. The skin was a bit redder than normal, but not chafed.

Still she had to make sure.

“Have I hurt you?”

“No daddy,” Clarke smiled down, a sheepish grin gracing her lips, “I think I did it to myself when I tugged too hard.”

Anya sighed, a worried frown digging into her forehead, and she dropped their act for a moment, letting herself through. “You could have used the safeword, love.”

“You know I don’t mind a little pain, babe.” Clarke bent down and pressed her lips to Anya’s temple, “now quit frowning or you’ll end up looking even older than you already do.”

Her banter ended in a squeal as she was tugged down roughly, air leaving her in a rush as the tip of Anya’s cock nudged against her entrance.

“You were saying, babygirl?” The older blonde snarked, right before capturing her mouth in a heated kiss that was a riot of sliding tongues and pulled lips. Clarke emerged from it gaping-mouthed and breathless, gasping again as her lover gently pulled her onto her cock.

“I missed you so much…” She sighed as her muscles burned with the slow stretch, whimpering when the head of Anya’s cock popped inside her, “so very much.”

Her vision blurred with unshed tears and she buried her face into Anya’s neck, letting herself sink deeper onto her hard shaft, embracing the pain that blazed up her spine from it, before it turned into liquid pleasure that filled the hollows of her bones with warmth.

She didn’t care that some of her tears slipped through regardless, wetting the collar of the shirt Anya still wore. Clarke only cared for the fullness inside her belly, for the soft slap of her wife’s thighs against her ass as Anya began to thrust, shallow at first, then deeper and rougher as Clarke’s muscles adjusted.

It had been only a week, and Clarke felt stupid from letting such a short time get to her this way, but it had happened. She’d worked long hours at the University’s art department, hoping fatigue would help, but her nights had been too long, and their bed - emptied of her wife - far too cold for comfort.

She clung on for dear life, fingers digging angry welts into Anya’s shoulders even through the fabric, and her wife murmured softly in response, hands grasping Clarke’s hips and pulling her relentlessly down, so that she impaled herself upon Anya’s length.

They came together, their hoarse screams combining into a roar like that of raging waves breaking on the coast. Clarke shook like a boat in bad weather, every last drop of her arousal rushing out of her as she took spurt after spurt of her wife’s thick cum deep inside her womb, muscles spasming violently until she could do nothing but sag into Anya’s strong frame.

Anya felt Clarke slump in exhaustion and she managed to scoot back, before letting herself fall on the bad, the blonde spread out on top of her while she tapered off inside her.

“My love…” she brushed damp strands away from Clarke’s face before kissing the tip of her nose, “Clarke…”

“Mmmm…” The blonde groaned, too tired to even talk, and contenting herself with nuzzling into Anya’s neck more firmly. “Don’t leave again for a while?”

The quiet, desperate hope tinging each word punched right through her, and Anya felt herself neatly gutted as if Clarke had been wielding a razor-sharp sword, instead of making a request.

She knew why the blonde had asked, and she hummed softly in response, fingers slowly carding through the knotted mess of her wife’s golden hair. The fall was a difficult time for Clarke, and it had been since they had put her father into the ground five years before.

Anya knew because she had been there to hold Clarke together through the mess, but it didn’t matter how well you glued the pieces back in place once they had shattered - the reflection would always be a bit warped. And when people died they left a hole, she knew because no matter how much she loved Clarke, the part of her that had so fiercely loved Tris - her little sister - was still cold and dark.

Her arms tightened around her wife and Anya wondered at the impossibility of it all. It never ceased to amaze her how people could survive while being perfectly broken, their souls a jagged mess of sharpened edges and broken promises.

And yet, she mused as she rubbed her cheek on the top of Clarke’s head, therein lay the real beauty.

“I had some unused vacation time and I decided to take it,” she reassured, hands stroking softly down Clarke’s back, “I am home for a couple of weeks.”

“Really?” Clarke raised her head, excitement written on her face.

“Really,” Anya smiled fondly, “but by the time vacation’s over you’ll beg for me to go back to work.”

“Nah,” Clarke laughed, lifting slightly to look into Anya’s eyes, “I know the perfect way to keep you busy.”

The blonde moved off Anya’s body, feeling her wife’s softening cock slip out of her, and reached for the duvet bunched up at the foot of the bed. They could rest for a short while, and then she would make sure that Anya was the one doing a bit of begging.

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts?


End file.
